


Maybe I'm amazed

by honeybee_motorcyles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, HIV/AIDS, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, John Watson is a Good Doctor, M/M, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, POV John Watson, Past Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock Is Not Okay, Sherlock works with MI5 before he met John, Virus, dyslexic writer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29041128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee_motorcyles/pseuds/honeybee_motorcyles
Summary: In which what happened to Sherlock in Serbia had a consequence that lasted a lifetime, (literally)
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor (past)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is like the prologue. 
> 
> Thank you to my beta, Beth @Ilikestopwatches.

My Heart is a Ghost Town

*

It was a sunny afternoon when John Watson’s office phone rang. It was Mycroft Holmes. John frowned; he hadn’t spoken with his brother-in-law since the funeral.

John’s life was simple and normal, two years after his husband’s sudden death. He had a nice paying job and Sherlock’s trust. And he had his friends, Greg, Mrs Hudson, Molly and Mike. 

He answered his phone and sighed. He could hear Mycroft’s voice sounding a bit frazzled. “John, meet me today at my office. I need to speak with you.”

He didn’t know what to feel about Mycroft. On the one hand he was John's former brother-in-law so that ought to mean something. On the other hand, he sold his brother to the devil incarnate, leading to him jumping off St. Barts' roof. 

“Why?” John asked. He didn’t like to be bossed around, and besides it was Mycroft Holmes.

“It’s about Sherlock.” John could feel his blood drain from his face. His husband had been dead for two years. He was almost hyperventilating, when Mycroft’s voice sounded in his ear. “He's alive, John.” John was on the floor and crying. “Where is he, Mycroft? I am going to kill you if you’re kidding me.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Mycroft asked, sounding surprised.

John was flabbergasted. “But how?” He was relieved Sherlock was alive but he also felt betrayed. How could Sherlock have pulled that off? 

He could hear Mycroft on the other end of the line talking to someone. “There are harnesses, John.”

“But I touched him, Mycroft. He was pretty dead to me,” John said indignantly.  
"He never touched the ground, John,” Mycroft said and John needed to sit back down.

“Where is he, Mycroft?” John asked, angrily fixing his things in his briefcase. When Mycroft didn’t answer, John shouted, “Where is my HUSBAND? I am going to kill you both.”

He could hear Mycroft saying something to someone at the other end of the line. He could now hear what he couldn’t before: the hissing of an oxygen tank and beeping of a heart monitor. 

“Mycroft?” he said after a while of not saying a word. 

He could hear Mycroft sigh. “Queen Elizabeth II Hospital, ICU room 7. I’ll send a car.” He hung up without a word.

John walked downstairs and opened the door to the black Mercedes. He was nervously drumming his fingers on his briefcase. It took only a three minute drive for him to arrive at the hospital. 

He took the lift to the second floor of the hospital where the ICU was located. John looked around for a familiar face. Mycroft exited the hallway with a woman who was obviously his wife or girlfriend. John walked towards him and abruptly punched Mycroft's face.

The woman went to defend Mycroft, however Mycroft stopped her with a hand on the arm. “No, Mel, it was my fault.”

“Yes, it was,” John said with an angry laugh. “Where is he?” 

“I’ll escort you. Come with me.” 

John followed Mycroft to an ICU cubicle where Sherlock was laying comatose, tubes snaking his badly beaten body. John crumpled to the ground and punched Mycroft again. 

He moved to the foot of the bed and read through Sherlock’s chart. Sherlock was in a medically induced coma because of the brain injury, a torn Achilles and a lot of scars on his back. There was an anal tear. ‘Who did this to you, Sherlock,’ John thought and at that moment he forgave Sherlock, but he wanted to kill Mycroft. He turned to Mycroft and said, “Who did this to him.” 

Mycroft started at his voice. “He was in Serbia for four weeks, destroying Moriarty’s network. That was the last leg of the mission.”

“You used him for your own missions? He wasn’t trained, Mycroft. What the bloody hell are you thinking?” John snarled. 

Mycroft sighed tiredly. “Sherlock hasn’t told you plenty of things about his past, because he can’t and he was retired. When you started dating he came to me and told me he was going to retire from ‘the farce that was intelligence’ and be a private detective. I told him that he was making a huge mistake. He loves you, John, a lot. Will you please forgive my brother?”

John didn’t know what he should tell Mycroft. “If he was retired, then why?” 

Mycroft walked the length of the hospital room. “He needed to save you, Gregory Lestrade and Martha Hudson.”

John arched an eyebrow. “What?” he said, starting to pace. “What do you mean?”

“John,” Mycroft said, “Sherlock saved your lives by jumping off that building. There were three snipers. One for each one of you. You might blame me for my actions that led Sherlock to jump...”

John was suddenly tired. “Mycroft, could you please leave me alone with my husband?”

“Call me, John, if you need anything.” 

John didn’t reply. He was still flabbergasted by all of this. Sherlock had lied and the most important thing was he was alive but barely. He sat on the chair beside Sherlock’s bed, stroking his husband’s hand. 

“Sherlock? Can you hear me? I love you, so very much. Please don’t die. You can’t die on me.” 

Three days of vigil later, John hadn't left Sherlock’s side. He slept near his husband. Sherlock’s intracranial pressure got better. On the third day, he had surgery on his Achilles tendon. John just hoped that Sherlock would be back to his former self in no time.

For four days the doctors weaned Sherlock off of his sedation. John was there with him, holding his hand. “Sherlock, hey, there you are.”

After the doctors had left his room, Sherlock spoke, “John? I thought… I wouldn’t see you again." Sherlock started to cry. “I can’t believe it, John. I thought of you, all the time. I am sorry.”  
John wrapped Sherlock in his arms.

“Shh, it's okay. Mycroft told me about you, but that’s water under the bridge, okay? I am here, love.” John pressed the call button.

“Dr. Watson?” Sherlock’s nurse, Cathy, said from the doorway. 

“Will you call Dr Reed for us?”

Dr. Reed was a tall, black man in his forties. “Okay, Mr Holmes. Where are you?”

Sherlock answered him with boredom which pleased John to no end. “You will be transferred maybe today or tomorrow,” the doctor said after the examination. “You’re doing great, Mr Holmes.” Sherlock nodded. John caught up with the doctor outside. 

“Dr. Reed, I just want to ask you about Sherlock’s rehab. Will he be able to run again?”

“John, I am not sure about that. It will depend on Sherlock,” Dr Reed said. 

“Thank you.” 

John and Sherlock left the hospital after three days They moved to Sherlock’s childhood home near Kensington Garden. Baker Street would not accommodate Sherlock on crutches. John quit his job at the local surgery.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy 11th Anniversary, Johnlock!!!

One month later:

John Watson was worried about Sherlock, which wasn’t new. However, Sherlock had been ill the past few weeks. He had been missing physical therapy. John just put it down to Sherlock’s erratic mood. 

They could not rent 221 Baker Street anymore because even if Sherlock’s balance improved, the Achilles injury gave him chronic pain. Also, regaining his level of agility was very hard. So they bought a flat in a high-rise with a lift near Regents Park. He and Sherlock would miss the Baker Street flat but needs must. 

One day, he came home from the supermarket to Sherlock asleep on the sofa at twelve in the afternoon which was very unusual for him. John frowned and dumped their food in the kitchen and went to his husband’s side. “Sherlock?” 

Sherlock stirred. “Wha? What time is it, John?” he said groggily.

“It's twelve, Sherlock.”

“I am sleepy.” At the same time, Sherlock winced which made John even more concerned. Sherlock saw John’s concerned face. “I’m fine, John.”

John wanted to back off but something was telling him to push for answers. “Sherlock, you have been sleeping more often than before you left, and you’re a lot slower and not just because of your Achilles. I can see that you're constantly running a fever; you're popping paracetamol like they're sweets. Love, I don’t want to intrude, but are you okay?”

Sherlock looked dumbfounded. “Yes, I’m fine, John.” 

One night, many days later, John got back from his new job at Vaux Cross Hall as one of its consultant doctors at its surgery to Sherlock asleep in their bed. It was only seven thirty.

“Love,” he said, patting Sherlock’s arm.

“John? You're home. What time is it?” 

“It's only seven thirty, love.” Then John looked at him. He really looked at him. Sherlock was still in his pajamas from the night before. “Sherlock, I think there’s something really wrong with you.”

“No. I’m fine, John.”

John just sighed. He was tired and Sherlock was being Sherlock, dismissing his health. He climbed into their bed and hugged Sherlock to his chest. John prayed to a god he vaguely believed in. 

A week after the ‘bed incident’, as John dubbed it, Greg Lestrade came to their flat for advice on a case.

“John, Sherlock looks really bad,” Greg said as John was leading him to the lift. 

“What do you mean?” John asked worriedly.

Greg looked at him with suspicion. “You don’t recognise Sherlock is ill, John?” 

“I know Sherlock was ill, was being the operative term.” 

Greg looked at him funny. “He’s so thin, John. He looks like a stick... Maybe because you're with him every day, you don’t notice how thin he is. He looks like death ran him over.”

John’s blood ran cold. “Thanks for coming, Greg,” he told Lestrade.

He went upstairs to confront Sherlock. Sherlock was asleep in their bed but it was good that he was asleep because he could observe his husband. Greg was right; Sherlock looked awful. He was rail thin with sunken eyes and grey skin. Sherlock was wasting away in front of his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, love,” John said, “but I really need to bring you to an A&E department. I don’t know what’s going on.”

This was the hardest thing he’d do for Sherlock and probably the last. He knew that when Sherlock was little he was in a psych ward because of his autism. As a result he always had a visceral reaction to doctors and he was the only doctor Sherlock trusted.

With shaking hands, he dialed 999. Sherlock woke up for a bit. He was a bit disoriented which gave John more courage to call. "Floor 4 unit 8, 248 Marylebone road. My partner has been sick for a week or so, with a fever, disorientation, loss of appetite and weight loss. He is 34.”

“Okay, sir. Ambulance will be there in five.”

John slumped down on his knees. “I hope you can forgive me, but if not, Sherlock, I am gladly walking away knowing that I saved your life.”

The ambulance arrived after five minutes. John talked to them in the hallway. “I’m a doctor, please let me do his fluids. He has had plenty of bad experiences with paramedics.”

The two medics looked at one another and nodded. “Okay,” they said and John was grateful to them.

“Sherlock, I need to put an IV line on you, love.” John stuck a needle into Sherlock’s arm. “You can come in, guys.” They carried Sherlock downstairs. Luckily it was only three in the afternoon and there weren’t many neighbours around. 

“Take him to Barts,” John said.

In the ambulance, Sherlock woke up for a bit. John was holding his hand. “Sherlock, it's alright."

The ten minute drive was very stressful for John. Sherlock’s fever was above forty-one degrees and he drifted in and out of consciousness. 

When they arrived at Barts, Sherlock was wheeled off into an examination bay. John tried to come inside the bay. A nurse backed him off. John heard a voice and recognised it to be Stamford. 

“John?” 

“Oh, Mike, you're on duty?” 

“Just on call,” Mike said. “Why are you here?” 

“Sherlock’s here.”

“Why, what happened?” Mike asked. “Walk with me?”

“Sure.” He figured that if Sherlock woke up then the nurses could call him. They walked to Stamford’s office.

“So what happened?”

“He was ill. I noticed it two weeks ago. Then, today, he was constantly feverish.”

Mike frowned. “That’s concerning…”

“Yeah, very concerning. I just hope this is nothing serious.” 

Several minutes later, his phone beeped. It was Mycroft. ‘John, why did my brother’s blood come back positive for HIV? MH.’

John’s face drained of any colour. “John?” Mike said.

He was taken aback. “That was Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s brother. I need to go.” 

“Okay, call me. Let’s have drinks.” 

John just nodded. He walked slowly, the phone burning in his pocket. Sherlock would not like this. 'Where did he pick this up. Did I give it to him?' were the words inside John’s head. They weren’t sexually exclusive, for John’s benefit, because he was bisexual. It dawned in his brain.

Sherlock had been out of the country. He went to see Ella and talked to her. After his session he had been diagnosed with PTSD, just last week.

When he got to the A&E department, Sherlock was being readied for a private room. 

John nodded to the nurse. She looked at him with sympathy which gritted on John’s nerves. 

He needed to get a hold of his emotion because he couldn’t see like that. He went upstairs and took a deep breath. He opened the door to his husband’s room. The doctor was inside and Sherlock was awake and conscious. 

The doctor was telling him. “Mr. Holmes, you are HIV positive.”


	3. Chapter 3

.  
*  
Sherlock woke up to a man entering his hospital room. He had been annoyed earlier that John had brought him to the hospital; he had told his husband explicitly not to bring him here. It was just the flu after all.

“Mr Holmes, you’re HIV positive,” the doctor said and Sherlock wanted to cry and scream, right there and then.

“You must have made a mistake. I can’t be.” 

“It's NHS protocol when a positive test comes back for HIV we do it twice. Your blood came back positive twice. I am so sorry.”

Sherlock heard the doctor but he didn’t. He could see John lingering around in the room but he couldn't. It was like he was watching telly with only one eye open. It was so unreal. It was like his whole life up to that point flashing in his head. 

Since he had become sexually active when he was eighteen, in his first year in university, he had been very careful with who he shared his bed with. Because, as a person who grew up in the 80’s, and who could remember the protest in New York and the death of his favorite non-classical composer, Freddie Mercury, he was terrified of getting AIDS.

Even with his drug use, Sherlock was very careful and besides he only did drugs sharing needles for three years between 2003 to 2006 introduced by his ex-lover, Victor Trevor.

When he had met John four years ago, he had deduced that John was bisexual, back in the beginning, so he proposed that they start to have a non-monogamist relationship. John had been seeing a lot of people. They implemented it because he didn’t want to lose John. If he lost John once a week it would be much better than losing him forever.

Then, Sherlock went away. The mission was a covert and dangerous operation. He was captured three times and was sexually assaulted. When Mycroft rescued him, he had a massive brain injury and ruptured Achilles tendon, now HIV. How would this affect their relationship? Would John leave him? Could they even have sex? Would John want to have sex with him? He knew HIV wasn’t a death sentence anymore, but still. 

“Your CD4 count is good. We believe that the infection is fairly recent and not an indication of AIDS,” the doctor was saying as Sherlock’s life flashed in his mind's eye. “You might want to inform all your sexual partners.”

“No,” John said. “We are not monogamous but we practice safe sex, he was…” Sherlock looked at John with narrowed eyes waiting on what the hell he would say. 

When John said nothing, he confirmed. “I was working in intelligence.” His doctor looked incredulous and Sherlock snapped. “I know you just want to believe I got HIV from having sex all the time with other people because I am gay but I was dismantling a criminal enterprise worth millions. I was… I was sexually assaulted.”

Sherlock started hyperventilating. “Get out.” The doctor didn’t move, so John said, “please.” When the other doctor left, John turned to Sherlock and hugged him. “I am so sorry, love, for bringing you here. I am sorry for your diagnosis.”

“When are you leaving?” Sherlock said. 

John looked flabbergasted. “Why?”

“I have HIV,” Sherlock said. “And also, I was sexually assaulted. I am disgusting.”

John hugged him and kissed his lips. Sherlock kissed him back. John Watson was so irresistible. “Sherlock, love, I so love you. Don’t ever forget that.” 

“What if I give you this virus? I know it’s not a death sentence anymore but still it’s a serious illness. That has ramifications on your career.” Sherlock’s eyes were a bit moist.

John sighed. “PrEP, Sherlock, I’ll take PrEP, okay!” 

Sherlock sighed tiredly. “We need to negotiate terms.” He looked at John with a ‘you know what' expression. 

“Why?”

Sherlock gave John a sad expression and John gave his hand a tight squeeze. “I really don’t want to get other people sick.”

“I am taking PrEP, Sherlock,” John said, a token protest. But Sherlock knew that John hadn’t seen a woman since they had married. 

“When should I be allowed out of this hell?” Sherlock said changing the subject abruptly.

“Maybe tomorrow, love.”

“There isn’t a cure for HIV, John. They don’t need to gawk at the AIDS patient,” Sherlock hissed.

“Sherlock,” John said in a warning tone. 

Sherlock sighed in defeat. “I know, could you climb in the bed though, please?” 

“Okay,” John climbed into bed with Sherlock. “You still have a fever, love,” John said, when he placed his hand on Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Hmm, I had hoped the meds would have no side effects.” 

They watched a show until a nurse changed Sherlock’s IV medications. And then they fell asleep. The nurses were cooing at them.

When Sherlock woke up the morning after his diagnosis, he felt many emotions. He was sad and angry and he was most of all scared. 

He wouldn’t admit it to John but, when he lived in the US in the late 80’s because of his family business, he was bullied in the all boys day school his parents sent him to, because he was clever, autistic, and obviously being a ’girl’ which was a code for being gay. 

How would Donavan or Anderson react to him having HIV or the more pertinent would be how would Greg react to him being diagnosed with HIV. Would they even call him for cases? What Donavan or Anderson didn’t know was he had a lot of insecurities about himself. He wasn’t the sociopath they thought he was.

He must have been thinking out loud but John was looking at him worriedly. “Sherlock? Penny for your thoughts?” 

“Is it that obvious, John?” He smirked.

“Yes.”

Sherlock sighed. “I am just thinking about what Lestrade or Donavan and Anderson would say if they knew about my diagnosis.” 

John kissed Sherlock on the lips. “You don't even need to know.”

Sherlock frowned. “I guess.”

The food tray came at around eight for breakfast. “I’m not hungry,” Sherlock said, pushing his plate away. 

“You need to eat, Sherlock, love.”

“I don’t really feel good,” Sherlock said. They gave him the Intravenous medication and as a result he felt nauseated.

“I am sorry, love.”

Sherlock hugged John who was eating his food instead. “I am okay though.” 

They snuggled against each other in the small hospital bed until the doctor came by with Sherlock’s discharge papers and pill bottle. They signed the discharge papers and took the pill bottle from him. 

“Here’s the rest of my life.”

“Sherlock,” John said in a warning tone. 

“I will send you to Dr. Wilson of our HIV center. Mr Holmes, you need to take your medication at the same time.”

John helped Sherlock with his clothing. “Okay, let's go home.” They walked downstairs into one of Mycroft’s cars. 

^


	4. Chapter 4

*  
The medications hit Sherlock hard. John stood silently as his husband vomited on the bathroom floor. He, as a doctor, knew that this was normal with HIV medications but it was still hard.

It had been four days since Sherlock’s diagnosis. Dr Wilson had told them that after two weeks if Sherlock did not feel better when it came to the side effects they would change his medication.

Today, Greg was in the condo with them discussing a case. “A body was found today in Kensington Garden,” Greg said in frustration. “I need your help, Sherlock. Will you come and see the scene?"

Sherlock looked at him and John sighed. “Sherlock, are you up for this?” he whispered.

“Yes, I can go to the crime scene.” They hadn’t told anyone about Sherlock’s diagnosis. Mycroft found out through the NIH database. Sherlock was really angry at his brother about the breach of privacy. Mycroft suggested Sherlock go back to intelligence, a desk job at the SIS, but Sherlock said no; he wanted to spite his brother.

They went down with Greg and John and Sherlock flagged a cabbie because he didn’t want to ride in Greg’s unmarked vehicle. The ten minute drive to Kensington’s Lady Diana Memorial Park was uneventful. However, as soon as they were outside of the cab, Sherlock swayed. “Dizzy,” John whispered.

“I just need to get my balance from underneath me.”

“Okay?” John said, shooting Sherlock worried glances.

They went to look at the body of a young man, no older than 20, laying face down on a bench covered in blood. 

“The victim didn’t die here; there’s no struggle. When your suspect brought him, he was already dead.” Sherlock looked around and knelt down next to the body. “He is obviously gay. I think he has been assaulted, no scratches on the body though,” Sherlock said, kneeling down and getting the packet from under the small bench.

John sighed. Sherlock stood up and swayed. John, who was watching, caught his arm. “You okay?” John was worried. 

“Yes, I’m fine, John,” Sherlock said, annoyed.

“Sherlock, you're not. We need to go home, love.” John turned to Greg. “Sherlock isn’t feeling well, Greg.” 

“John, no,” Sherlock said. “I want… want to work on this case.”

John sighed. “Alright.” He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

Lestrade looked at Holmes and Watson and back again and asked, “What’s going on?” 

Sherlock gave him a murderous glance. “Should we talk about personal rubbish? There’s a dead kid lying in Kensington Gardens.”

“Okay,” John said, after Greg nodded. 

Sherlock knelt down again, gathering information, when Greg asked, “Is he alright? I mean, he doesn’t look good. He was dizzy when you got here?“ The DI looked from John to Sherlock and back. “His face is red, John,” Greg said with a bit of concern. “It's good that Donavan and Anderson are not working here anymore or else….” The two officers were fired after the investigation into Sherlock’s suicide. 

John looked at Sherlock and back at Greg. “Sherlock was sick, 'was' being the operative word. I am sorry, Greg. I can’t tell you…”

“I want to know if he could pass out during a case, John.””

“No, it’s not that,” John said. “He is fine.”

Sherlock looked at John then Greg and back to John and he was angry. “John? Are you gossiping about me?”

“No,” John said. 

Sherlock nodded and returned back to his work. “Bring the body to Barts.” 

John helped Sherlock off the ground. His husband glared at him but Sherlock held his hand up. They took a taxi to St Barts. While in the cab, Sherlock leaned his head on John’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Sherlock nodded and said nothing. A short drive later, the taxi was depositing the men at the hospital’s main entrance. John looked at Sherlock and sighed. ‘Is this going to be his life? I didn’t mind because I love him but I don’t want to see him struggle.’ John thought. 

Sherlock looked at him angrily. “John?”

“Yes, love?”

Sherlock sighed. “I don’t feel good.” 

John looked at him; Sherlock looked pale. He was breathing hard. “Okay, love,” John ran his hand on Sherlock’s arm. He directed Sherlock to sit on a nearby bench. “What’s wrong? Can you tell me your symptoms?”

“Dizzy, and I think I want to throw up.”

“Okay.”” John directed Sherlock to a rubbish bin. Sherlock vomited all the contents of his stomach. “I think we need to go home, love.”

“No,” Sherlock looked at John indignantly.

John gave a dry laugh. “You're barely upright, Sherlock. It’s only been a week, love, five days to be exact.” Sherlock swayed again. “Look at you. If you feel better tomorrow you can come back here.”

Sherlock reluctantly nodded. “One condition,” he said. 

“What?”

“Let's do what we did at the hospital?”

John was surprised. “You want to cuddle?” he asked teasingly. Sherlock screwed his face in a grimace.

John ended up texting Greg while they were in a cab, Sherlock’s head on his shoulder. He can’t work on this case. JW

John, why? GL

He’s ill. JW

Yes, why is he ill? GL

Sherlock looked at John. With a sigh of resignation, he said, “I think he ought to know. But not through the air, in person, we can invite him over for dinner tonight.”

John sighed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Geoffrey had been like a father to me. He needs to know. ” 

“And it’s Greg, Sherlock.” 

He texted Greg. “Sherlock needs to tell you something. Dinner and drinks at our place?” JW.

Okay, what time? GL 

Six-thirty okay? JW.

Greg just sent him an emoji of a hand with three fingers up. 

They got home after a ten minute drive, and Sherlock went to their room immediately to dress into a comfortable t-shirt and pajamas. Greg wouldn’t mind. He probably had seen Sherlock looking worse, John thought. “Tea?” John asked Sherlock when he got in.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. He made Sherlock tea and sat beside him on the sofa. It was four-thirty, so they cuddled, watching a crappy American reality show. 

One hour and a half later, Sherlock fell asleep next to him. John sighed. He needed to get food for the three of them. He decided to cook the only soup Sherlock would eat, creamy potato soup and bread, with beer for him and Greg and juice for Sherlock. 

Sherlock woke up an hour later. He didn’t look good, poor him. There was a buzzing sound outside. “Don’t stand, Sherlock. I’ll get it.” 

“Lestrade,” Sherlock said to Greg.

“Hi.” They shook hands.

They ate dinner. “So, Sherlock, how are you doing?” Greg asked after they had eaten dinner.

Sherlock looked at Greg and John. “I am HIV positive.”

Greg looked at him and at John. “Is this true?" When John nodded, he said, "Oh, Sherlock.” He went over and hugged Sherlock which warmed John’s heart. “Are you on medications?” 

“Yes, I am. They are making me like this.”

“Are you up for cases?” 

“Yes,” Sherlock said at the same time as John said, “Not yet.” 

Sherlock scowled, but John said, “His medication is making him ill.”

“Oh, lad,” Greg just said.  
*


	5. Chapter 5

*

When Greg left after discussing the case, Sherlock was tired. John helped him to bed. The next morning, it was six o’clock when Sherlock got a text from Greg about their unidentified person case.

‘Unidentified no more. You were right. GL.’

He got up and wrote a note to John. ‘Lestrade called. Case. I took my meds. Don’t worry.’

He got a cab from outside their building and, after a short drive, he arrived at Scotland Yard. He went to Greg’s office. “Hi, lad,” Greg said, not awkward like Sherlock believed he would be. “His name was Kristofer Nikolas Lambert,” Lestrade said. “He was American and 18 years old.”

“How did you confirm this?” Sherlock asked. 

Greg looked at his file. “An international search was conducted for this kid. I didn’t recognise who he was.”

“So what happened with the autopsy?” Sherlock asked, looking at the kid's photo. 

“You were right. He wasn’t killed at Kensington Garden and there was chlorine in his system…” 

“I’m an idiot. I should have seen it.”

“Why?”

“Look at his eyes.” 

Greg leaned over and nodded. “What?”

“They're red.” 

Greg nodded.

“Am I right, Lestrade? He was sexually assaulted, right?" Sherlock leapt on to his hunches.

Greg nodded. “Post mortem.” 

Sherlock went to Greg’s laptop on his desk, turned it on and searched the database for a particular case. “Oh, shite, of course he was already dead. So it was a copycat then…”

“Sherlock, what?” Greg asked.

Sherlock looked at Greg excitedly. “This was a copycat of the Soho Ripper that terrorised the gay neighbourhood of Soho in the 1990’s.”

“Fuck!” Greg cursed. “So you mean we have a budding serial killer.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think it was his first. I remember reading a story while I was away… “ Sherlock’s voice trailed off. He was quiet.

Greg looked at him worriedly. “Sherlock, lad, you okay?”

Sherlock quickly recovered. “Yeah, anyway, there was a case back then that your department didn’t solve. There was a kid, Allen Kirby. He drank chlorine. I thought it was only a one off.”

Greg’s eyes bugged out from his head. “Allen Kirby!!” 

“Yes, Greg,” Sherlock said mockingly. “I realised that you heard the name.”

“Yes, so you're telling me this person had been mimicking the Soho Ripper,” Greg said, putting things together.

“He did it near the anniversary of Paul Harrison’s capture,” Sherlock said with a sigh. 

“So, how can we look for our perp?” Greg asked. 

“How much chlorine was in Lambert’s system?”

”Dangerous levels. Enough to kill you,” Greg read. “Lambert was skinny,” Greg mused.

Sherlock started pacing. “Ah, we should call every pool manufacturer in England for a person who bought a lot of chlorine.”

“You’ll be the one to call, Sherlock!” Greg said, smirking.

“What? Why?”

Greg sighed. “Sherlock, you’re sick. When your viral load is undetectable then you can go with me.” 

Sherlock understood that Lestrade didn’t want him to do leg work. Instead of sulking, he picked up his phone and called every pool manufacturer in Greater London.

He sighed. If he could not run around with the police he would just work for Mycroft. He thought about it for a minute. He liked the cases for Mycroft; they were more interesting. Plus John would be there.

On the third try, Sherlock got through. “Hello, I am William Holmes. I am calling from the office of Detective inspector Greg Lestrade. Can I speak with the manager?” 

A woman’s voice answered. “I am the manager…”

“Yes, Ma’am… The department is looking into two deaths: Allen Kirby and Kris Lambert. They died of chlorine ingestion. Do you have a record of purchases of large amounts of chlorine?”

“Ah.. we can’t tell you, sir.”

Sherlock gritted his teeth. “Ah… Okay, I’ll call my boss for a search warrant. Either way I will get it.”

“Okay….”

“Okay, bye… idiot.” He looked at his watch. It was nearly eleven. He needed to eat, so he got up to see if Lestrade was in the building. 

He saw Lestrade in the next office with DI Hopkins. “Lestrade, I need to eat,” Sherlock said. 

Greg looked surprised. “I thought you didn’t eat on cases,” Lestrade joked. Sherlock looked at him murderously. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh, yes.”

“Ok, Hopkins, later,” Greg said standing up. The younger DI nodded. 

Sherlock and Greg left the building. “You need to get a warrant for Star Pool’s financial and inventory.”

“Ah… The case.”

“The case is moving as fast as it can be.” He sighed; he was extremely tired somehow.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

“No, I’m fine. Blood sugar is just low. The meds I am on are messing with my sugar.”

“So you need to eat?” 

“Yes."

Greg led Sherlock to a Subway. They sat on a bench and Sherlock felt better after a couple of bites. They talked about the case when Sherlock mentioned that he needed a search warrant on the records for three pool companies. Greg got the warrant.

—————

Three days later, Sherlock and John joined Greg in the interrogation room. John sat outside while listening to his husband and the DI. Sherlock had told John already this would be their last case with the MET. 

If he could not run after suspects and do his thing as the ‘World’s Only Consulting Detective’ then he would just go and work for Mycroft. John obviously liked that he could look after Sherlock at work.

Today was his last case and Sherlock as a consulting detective. They wanted it to be memorable. So he was inside the interrogation room talking with the pool company manager who was the mother of their primary suspect. 

“Look, if you don’t answer the question You’re going to be implicated in the case,” Sherlock said to the woman. “Okay?”

Greg had asked his superiors if Sherlock could be here and they'd agreed. 

The woman looked at Sherlock. “Okay. So what do you want to know?”

“Do you know Daniel Gokey?” Sherlock asked, a bit angry with the woman.

“No, sir,” the woman said, obviously lying.

Sherlock slammed his hand on the table and paced the whole of the room. “Ms. Starr, you’re lying. I know you are.” He looked at her. “If you don’t cooperate with this investigation then the MET will make your life a living hell.”

Ms. Starr looked to Sherlock and back at Greg. “Danny is my son, from my first husband.” She stopped abruptly.

“Okay, continue, Ms. Starr.”

Starr nodded. “He is mentally ill, bipolar.” 

“Stop making excuses, Ms. Starr,” Sherlock shouted. 

Starr looked at Greg instead of Sherlock. “I am not making excuses, Mr Holmes.”

“What happened last year, Ms. Starr, when he was working in the family business?” Greg asked, glaring at Sherlock.

“He stole a container of chlorine,” she said with shame.

“Did you ask him what he would do with the container of chlorine?” Greg asked.

"No, I haven’t seen him since he quit last year.”

“Okay. You can go,” Sherlock said.

Three days later, Daniel Gokey was arrested and charged with the two murders.

*


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock’s first week back at his first job was fine. He had a case - it was money laundering. Back then, he had hated those sorts of cases, but now he found it very calming.

Dr Wilson, his HIV specialist, hit the right cocktail of medication, with which he was able to work with little side effects. He felt great with the meds he just was hoping that he would be okay for many more years. 

John was working at the clinic downstairs and they were going to catch up later at the canteen for lunch. That had been their routine. 

It was his third week on the job, when a tall, blond-haired man sat on his chair. It was his ex-boyfriend, Victor. “Will, you’re back?”

He knew that Victor worked here for the government because after graduate school he and Sherlock were recruited by Mycroft. Then Sherlock got bored and did drugs more extensively and that was the end of their romantic relationship. 

They were better off as friends and friends they remained. In fact, Victor had helped him during his exile. Victor was the one who had rescued him from Serbia. Sherlock was very grateful. “Yes,” he told Victor with a sigh. “I need to be going. Nice to see you again, Vic.”

Victor looked at him bewildered. “William, can we get some tea later?” 

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. “Okay, I can do that.”

He walked to the downstairs clinic where John’s office was and knocked at the door. “Hey.” John looked up from his paperwork. “Are you done?”

“Yes,” John said. As he stood up gathering his things in his bag, he asked, “Did you eat?” John had to remind him to eat most days.

“No, nauseous.” The HIV meds were still making him sick sometimes. 

“But you still need to eat, love,” John said worriedly. 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and said, “John, let’s go home.”

They headed home in Sherlock’s black sedan. They first went to Angelo’s for dinner. While they were in the restaurant Sherlock’s phone pinged with a text message from Victor. 

‘Tomorrow at five in the cafeteria downstairs?’

John, who was seated beside him in their booth, raised his eyebrows. “Who’s that?” he asked.

“Victor,” Sherlock said, while spooning a bite of lasagna. 

“Who’s Victor?”

“You don’t know Victor?” Sherlock asked, bewilderment on his face. “Did I not tell you who Victor Trevor is?” 

John shook his head. “No? Is he your ex?” he joked. Sherlock didn't answer, just smirked. “He is, isn’t he?” 

“Jealous?” Sherlock said with a huff.

“No.”

“Oh, John,” Sherlock said, shaking his head and laughing. “We are just friends but we dated in uni. He is the agent who helped me during my time away.”

When John looked up he looked jealous and a little hurt. Sherlock knew that he was still cross about what happened three years ago. But John said, “Sherlock, I understand.”

Sherlock felt bad for everything that had happened to John during his time away. But he only squeezed John’s arm in a silent gesture of understanding. 

“So, what does this Victor want?”

“He wants to meet me for coffee tomorrow at work.” 

“Oh,” John said, tightening his fingers around Sherlock’s arm. John was jealous of Victor. Sherlock wasn’t sure why John was jealous but he respected John’s opinion, so he shrugged.

After eating they left the restaurant. They braved the traffic going home in car Sherlock’s had around John’s while he wasn’t shifting.

“So, you don’t want me to go?” Sherlock asked.

“No,” John said. “For the record, I am not jealous of him. I love him because he was your friend when I wasn’t there to help you with university and Serbia.” 

In the car, Sherlock said: “Thank you, John, for understanding. You can be angry at me for not telling you about him. You are so gracious about it.”

“No problem, love,” John said. “I could but I didn’t want to be an idiot, besides the past is the past.”

“Indeed.” 

———

The next morning, John met Sherlock before his meeting with Victor in the cafeteria. Sherlock wanted John to meet Victor. There was a man approaching their seat, and he was very tall and handsome, with short cropped blond hair and hazel brown eyes. 

As soon as Victor saw them, he hugged Sherlock and John cringed. “Hi, Will,” Victor said when they extracted their arms from one another. 

Sherlock had ordered two coffees before they met Victor.

“Victor,” Sherlock said in greeting, then he looked towards John. “This is my husband. Retired Captain John Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers. He works here, as a doctor, down at the clinic.”

Victor blinked and said, “Nice to meet you, Dr Watson.” He sat down across from him and Sherlock. 

“Nice to meet you too,” John said. “So, how did you meet Sherlock?”

“William and I went to university together,” Victor answered.

Sherlock interjected with, “his dog bit my leg.” John and Victor laughed.

“So,” John said, gripping his coffee cup loosely. “You call him Will?”

“Yes, it’s an inside joke between the two of us. He said his name was William to get me off of his back. I found him at a coffee shop and we became friends. 

Sherlock glared but the two other men laughed. “When did you two become intimate,” John asked Victor when they quieted out.

“After our first year of college,” Victor said and Sherlock nodded.

“Then?” John knew it was awkward to ask your husband’s ex to coattail their relationship but he didn’t care.

Victor looked at him and then he shrugged and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded. “We…”

“I did coke and screwed it up.”

“Oh,” John said and the air changed very abruptly. He took Sherlock’s hand in his. “Did you call it off after he did drugs?”

“No, I didn’t. I was in love with him back then.”

“Are you still now?” 

“No,” Victor looked at John seriously. “However, he is still my best friend and I care about him so much.” He was looking at John protectively.

They moved on from the whole conversation of exes and best friends, and John decided he liked this guy.


	7. epilogue

*  
Epilogue

December 23rd.

They had moved back in to Baker Street after living in the nice flat but it was just not home. Sherlock and John thought that they could leave Baker Street but they couldn’t. 

Sherlock was still working for Mycroft. He and John worked a case of four homicides that they linked to an American man from years ago who had killed eight people in the Los Angeles area. John had been working directly for the MI5 because he was qualified and Mycroft wanted him there to keep an eye on Sherlock. Mycroft had been pleased. They still consulted with Greg Lestrade. 

Sherlock’s HIV meds were working and the side effects were minimal. However Sherlock and John knew that this set of medication would not work forever. They had to just take one day at a time.

Like today, Sherlock was having side effects. He felt dizzy and unable to go to work; it was the final workday of the year. John was at work because they had a case last week and 

He just sat in his home office feeling crappy. Sherlock sighed and stood up and went to their bedroom. He should just sleep, so that’s what he did. He hoped John would come back home.

________

John arrived home a little early, surprised to see Sherlock asleep in their bed. It was only four in the afternoon and Mrs Hudson had called him earlier because she was worried for Sherlock. “Sherlock?” he said, moving to their room. “Are you alright?” 

“I am fine,” Sherlock said. 

“No, Sherlock. You are not fine, love.” John said and Sherlock nodded. “What are you feeling?”

“Dizzy and my stomach feels like it could eat itself alive,” said Sherlock with a pout.

“Oh, my poor love,” John said. He kissed Sherlock on the cheek. “Love you, let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

Sherlock nodded.

———-

December 24th

John woke first. It was Christmas Eve, and Sherlock was still curled up next to him on their bed. Today, they were going to have a small party with Greg, Molly, Victor, his wife Camilla, Mycroft and his wife, Mel, and Harry and her new partner Nichole. Sherlock’s relationship with his brother, Mycroft, was great. John was okay as well. 

He shook his husband’s shoulder. “Love, Sherlock, wake up?”

“Umm hmmm?” Sherlock asked sleepily.

“Merry Christmas,” John said, kissing Sherlock on the lips. 

Sherlock sighed. “Umm…. I’m still sleeping, John,” he said looking at him. 

John sighed. He wasn't sure if Sherlock was okay, or not. It was hard for him to ask because Sherlock would be so defensive. “I’ll get ready for the day, okay.” Sherlock waved him off. 

He took a bath and, when he returned, Sherlock was asleep in their bed. He sighed. “Nah… come back here. It’s Christmas; sex should be your gift to me, not some romantic bullshit or something like that.”

“Oh, okay,” John huffed. He put on a condom from their night stand and startled Sherlock on his hips. 

Sherlock sighed after they calmed down. “Happy Christmas, John. Thank you…”

“For what, love?”

“What do you mean for what?” Sherlock said with a contented smile. “For everything, John. First, for not leaving when the going got tough. I know I am not easy to live with.”  
John scoffed but Sherlock continued, “Thank you, for not dating after I jumped.” 

John laughed bitterly. “How could I, Sherlock? You're the love of my life, you dimwit. I was so depressed and. I didn’t know if… I wanted to follow you…”

Sherlock looked distressed. “Why? I was coming back, I planned too. Mycroft should have told you.” 

“You didn’t tell me, Sherlock." Again, John just laughed bitterly. “ Don’t you know how much I love you?” John touched his partner’s face and kissed him. “You had no idea?” Sherlock didn’t move. “I love you, Sherlock, and if you were to die like that again, I would be so crushed.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said again. “for sticking by me through thick and thin. Through nightmares and flashbacks, through an unthinkable, at least for me, illness that will probably kill me, not today but many years from now. I love you, John. Merry Christmas,” Sherlock said, tears pouring down his face.

John, on hearing his partner’s words, kissed Sherlock on the lips again and Sherlock was happy.

Tonight, they will have a party, a nice party with Christmas friends. But, for now, John was content with Sherlock in his arms.

The END

**Author's Note:**

> . Happy Anniversary to this fandom.


End file.
